


I've heard there was a secret chord

by bluestonewings



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Churches & Cathedrals, Complete, Drabble, Ficlet, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Headcanon, Mild Hurt/Comfort, POV Outsider, POV Second Person, Singing, alphonse deserves to be happy, churches r kinda cool honestly like religion aside theyre NEAT, no beta we die like the dumb idiot we're meant to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:15:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26242501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluestonewings/pseuds/bluestonewings
Summary: You're closing up the chapel for the night, wandering about alone in a grand and empty and utterly silent church.But tonight, someone, somewhere, begins to sing.(Sometime in his travels, not long after he's left home with Ed, Al wanders into an empty cathedral in the middle of the night.)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	I've heard there was a secret chord

**Author's Note:**

> Headcanon: Alphonse Elric loves to sing. After all, its one of the few things he has left.
> 
> I came up with this idea on a whim, mainly because I really love Al. Also I just think vaulted ceilings are neat. Unfortunately despite being a choir kid I know nothing about real churches and stuff. Either way, please enjoy!!

It’s late at night, and you’re stuck closing up the chapel by yourself. It’s not a _huge_ tourist attraction by any means, but it’s a big building, and gorgeously decorated like a cathedral (what with the flying buttresses and elegantly detailed stained glass); thus, it's historical and interesting enough to require a handful of tour guides and administrative assistants in addition to the typical religious staff and historical conservators. It’s a decent job to have, working here. At least, it is when you’re not stuck locking up the whole thing by yourself. It takes a long while to do a security sweep of the bell tower, then to patrol through the main hall of the building, and then longer still to switch off the lights and blow out the few 'thematically appropriate' candles. It’s probably midnight already; you need to finish the closing rounds so you can finally go home.

You hear noises distantly from the main hall, and swear gently under your breath. It isn’t _your_ fault your stupid coworker left early, leaving you to hastily finish up after them and hope all the doors have been closed properly. Clearly, a group of tourists have found their way in anyways, if the clattering coming from the main hall is anything to go by. You grab your keys, then head out from the offices toward the nave of the church. 

The faint commotion fades out when you are just partway to the side door, and you pick up your pace accordingly, already preparing a standard apology in your head (“I apologize for leaving the area unattended! Unfortunately, we are closed to the public, would you like to come back tomorrow?”) when suddenly, you freeze, mid-step, because somewhere, ever so faintly -

_I've heard there was a secret chord_  
_That David played, and it pleased the Lord_  
_But you don't really care for music, do you?_

Someone within the cathedral has begun to sing. You can tell from the timbre of their voice that it is a child: high, a little thin, a little light. Thanks to the sheer number of choir performances you’ve had to set up and attend, you can narrow it down to a boy, probably. He is hesitant, mumbling the beginning of the song and muffling the words. 

_It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth_  
_The minor fall, the major lift_  
_The baffled king composing Hallelujah_

His voice is sweet, if wobbly and quiet, and you catch more and more of the tune as he keeps singing. It doesn’t sound familiar. 

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_  
_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

Slowly, the voice picks up, growing more confident as he heads into another verse. You can hear him somewhat clearly now, despite being behind several stone walls and wooden doors. He’s begun to pick up an echo within the space in the grand hall.

_Your faith was strong but you needed proof_  
_You saw her bathing on the roof_  
_Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you_  
_She tied you to a kitchen chair_  
_She broke your throne, and she cut your hair_  
_And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah_

The song grows even louder, and begins to carry through the whole of the cathedral. The sound echoes wonderfully and strangely, bouncing off the straight walls and parabolic arches high above. You begin walking again, but slower, listening to his words.

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_  
_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

He sings bright and strong now, carrying the melody with a confidence borne of familiarity. The song rings up to the vaulted ceilings, and you can imagine the stained glass windows vibrating with the echoes. 

_You say I took the name in vain_  
_I don't even know the name_  
_But if I did—well, really—what's it to you?_  
_There's a blaze of light in every word_  
_It doesn't matter which you heard_  
_The holy or the broken Hallelujah_

The air reverberates with his voice, louder than anything you could ever imagine coming from a child. You can _feel_ it, too, a humming in your chest, in the air and the building around you. His voice grows rich with layers and echoes, soaring among the grand arches. 

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_  
_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

You finally make your way to the large wooden doors connecting to the transcepts that intersect with the main hall of the church, forming a cross with the nave. His singing is even louder here, and the door under your hand trembles. Echoes bounce off the walls; there is a whole choir of voices, vibrating in harmony, echoing his melody, haunting and ethereal and layered. 

_I did my best, it wasn't much_  
_I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch_  
_I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you_  
_And even though it all went wrong_  
_I'll stand before the Lord of Song_  
_With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah_

He sings, clear and sweet, and the whole of the building sings along with him.

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_  
_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

You hold your breath and wait. He fades out to a hum, leaving only an echo in the air.

_Hallelujah..._

The air settles slowly, languidly, and echoes continue to ring even when he stops singing. Only when silence finally falls do you silently push open the door and look in. The only figure you can see is a giant metal statue - no, a suit of armor - standing in the center of the cathedral crossing, past the front of the pews. The candlelight glints off the metal in the darkness, and the helmet is tilted up towards the high altar, or the stained glass windows, or the painted murals on the ceiling. His hands fall to his sides from up by his chest with a loud creak. He is alone.

* * *

You take a deep breath, shaking off the vague remnants of song, and refocus. That’s a weird outfit to just be hanging out in a cathedral in the middle of the night in, but (un)fortunately you’ve seen stranger things. Maybe this man is a soldier passing through, or just looking for solace through the late night. Still, you need to ask him to leave, and also find whatever incredible kid who was just singing. You step out from behind the door, quietly, and walk down the transcept toward the central crossing. 

“Uh, excuse me, sir,” you say hesitantly, and the man jumps, clanking loudly, and turns towards you. 

“Oh! Hi!”

Your train of thought immediately derails. The voice. It - 

The voice from within the armor is distorted, of course, muffled and tinny and echoing from within the metal confines. But the voice itself - high and bright - belongs to a child. It’s the voice of your mystery singer, but -

“I didn’t see you there,” the giant, non-child-sized armor continues, “do you work here?” 

“I, ah, yes?” you stammer, then automatically recite your planned closing spiel, all while your train of thought restarts and begins to run in circles. 

It’s not a man in the armor. He sounds like a child, and the curious tilt of the helmet is puppylike and childish even through all the metal. But it can’t be a child in there, either. The armor is huge, taller and wider than you are, built for a grown man. It _can’t_ be a child, somehow wearing the costume of a grown warrior. It should be an adult in there. It has to be. But the voice, the _voice_ -

You realize that you’ve been staring, blankly, at the suit of armor (the boy?) for an uncomfortable amount of time. His glowing red eyes (not just stray reflections of light off his helmet like you originally thought) are flicking nervously between you and the floor.

“I didn’t know you were closed! I didn’t mean to cause any trouble,” he stammers, the shyly ducked head and fidgeting at odds with the imposing figure it’s coming from, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, it’s not your fault,” you say soothingly, professionally, “I’m behind on closing up, and I should have been more careful. I apologize for the confusion.”

“I really am,” he continues anyway, “I’ve never been here before, and I just wanted to see what it was like inside, and I guess I got too caught up, but I didn’t mean to be so loud.”

He really is a child. It doesn’t make any sense. “Y-you were the one singing?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry if I’m not supposed to be here.”

“It’s fine, I mean it,” you backtrack slightly, not looking to shame this kid any further tonight, “you’re not in trouble."

"Are you sure?" he asks timidly.

"Yup, you're okay," you confirm, and he visibly relaxes, sighing with a soft metallic echo. "But let's head out now before it gets any later, alright?” 

He nods in assent, and you instinctively hold out your hand, the way you do when guiding children across the street. You realize just a moment later how silly it is, offering to walk an eight foot tall metal suit of armor out the door, but in the same instant he reaches out and ever so gently takes your hand with a giant leather glove. It’s much larger than your hand, and the cold fabric is worn soft to the touch. You smile up at him and squeeze his hand, and are rewarded with a quiet giggle from inside the armor. He looks at you expectantly, so you begin to lead him towards the exit; he follows, swinging your arm as he walks, like any other child.

You both walk back down the center aisle, past the rows of old, worn, pews. You step beside him, silently listening to him clank and grind, echoing harshly within the armor and through the cathedral. He winces with every heavy step, trying to be quiet like you are and inevitably failing miserably. 

“I’m s-“ he begins, but you cut him off before he can apologize yet again.

“Your song was very nice,” you say conversationally, and he turns his head down to look at you. “Do you sing a lot?”

“I like to sing. It’s something I can still do.” A beat, and then he twitches and stammers, “Ah. I mean, I’ve always liked it. It’s fun, that is, singing.”

“What song were you singing?”

The tinny voice sighs. “I don’t know what it’s called. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you tell him firmly, “a lot of old songs have names we don't remember anymore. Where did you learn it from?”

“It’s a song my mom used to sing,” he says, voice growing quiet, barely audible through the metallic echo and noise of his footsteps. “I only remember some of the words though. It’s- it’s been a while.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, she sang it a lot, before,” he breaks off, then starts over. “She always sang to me and Brother when we were little. It made me really happy when she did. I bet Brother knows all the words. Maybe he even knows where it’s from.”

“I don’t recognize the tune,” you say thoughtfully, “and I hear a variety of hymns from touring choir groups. Maybe it's a local song, from your home?”

His shoulders creak as he shifts slightly. “I’m from a little town, really far away,” he says vaguely, “It’s probably not very well known?”

“I see.” You take a moment to consider. “It’s a lovely song,” you tell him, “and you have a lovely voice. Your mother would be proud to hear you. Your brother too. Don’t be shy about it.” 

“... thank you,” the boy says, and you get the distinct impression of a blush and a small, proud smile from within the armor. 

* * *

“Do you need help getting home? Or maybe to call your brother?” you ask hesitantly, out past the front doors on the steps down to the road. Are you supposed to follow lost child procedure? Do you need to call the authorities? How are you going to explain that this suit of armor is actually a child?

“No, I’ll be okay.” he says cheerfully, “I know where to go. Besides, Brother is still sleeping, and I don’t want to wake him up. I can get back to the hotel by myself.”

“Are you sure? It’s really late.” 

“Yes,” he nods confidently, “I’m sure. You don't have to walk me. I’ve been going exploring by myself more now, and I can take care of myself.”

“Alright, if you say so.” You give him a pat on the arm, and let go of his hand. “You get home safe, okay?”

“I will! Thank you for letting me look around!” he chirps.

You smile. “I’m glad you enjoyed your visit. You’re welcome to come back sometime during the day if you would like.”

“That would be nice! If we come back to this town, maybe I’ll bring Brother here with me.” He clanks his way down the stairs, then turns back to look at you. “Thank you so much!” he says again, and begins to walk away from the building. 

"Thank you for the company!" you call in response. He turns back to wave at you. You raise your hand in return, and you think you see his glowing eyes squint into a smile. You watch as he grows smaller and smaller into the distance, clanking fading off quieter and quieter in the night. The streetlights glint off his armor, the only lonely soul awake and walking the streets. Then he turns a corner, white helmet tassel disappearing into the dark, and is gone.

You step back into the vestibule of the chapel. The grand doors shut firmly behind you, and you begin to finish locking up. At the same time, you think about a young gentle boy in a giant metal suit of armor, singing strange songs in an empty chapel in the middle of the night. You wonder why he is out alone in the dark, why he is in that armor, why he is so kind. Come to think of it, you realize while switching off lights and finally blowing out those candles, you didn’t even get his name. You wonder who he is, who his brother is, who his mother was.

Eventually, you find yourself back in the middle of the cathedral, once again in the center of the crossing. The hall is dark now, with only a few lights left flickering, grand and empty and utterly silent. You tilt your head up for a moment, and then, on a whim, quickly bring your hands up to your chest and press them together, firmly, briefly. It's not like you think of any god in particular, but you hope to whatever forces that are out there that the boy gets back safely. Whoever he is, wherever he is going, you hope he makes it home.

_Hallelujah, hallelujah_  
_Hallelujah, hallelujah_

The air still echoes with the hint of a song. 

_Hallelujah..._

**Author's Note:**

> [This (original) version of [Hallelujah](https://youtu.be/ttEMYvpoR-k) is by Leonard Cohen. it's very cool despite me picking this song at random and then going 'hey wait']  
> THANK YOU FOR READING!!! Leave a kudo and a comment if you enjoyed, it means a lot :D Also come talk to me on [tumblr](https://bluestonewings.tumblr.com)! I love yelling abt FMA and making friends
> 
> I haven't written anything for *checks watch* years so I figured why not go do something bonkers like vague second person POV in a brand new fandom for some new characters while just yeeting symbolism at a wall to see what sticks. I watched FMAB and FMA03 in rapid succession recently and I have thoughts. Specifically, Its Alphonse Loving Hours (TM) and I just want him to be happy. Anyone who meets Al just goes 'ah. you're baby' within five minutes and that includes me.
> 
> Me, at 11pm: ha wouldn't it be ironic if al was in a church singing hallelujah  
> Me, at 2 am: hEY WOULDNT IT BE SAD IF-  
> Me, at 4 am, sitting at 2k words: oh hell what did i do  
> 


End file.
